Not Stopping Questions
It turns out the quote is from Albert Einstein: “The important thing is not stopping questions.”
Mr. Einstein may be forgotten, especially the name. He came to America because Hitler was pushing Jews out of Germany, the lucky ones. You can believe everything you hear about “the final solution.” He went on a killing binge when it comes to homosexuals, crippled and followers of the Hebraic religion. Big time!
Der Führer didn’t like their smell, imagined they had a distinctive scent; they had the odor of humanity, along with everyone else. They clung to the small area in the Middle East and named it, Israel. I was in Cairo when Anwar Sadat welcomed the press corps; at the same time he gave a big hug and kiss to Menachem Begin.
A red-headed Israeli journalist comes to mind; she was nothing but ambitious. She organized her life; I was married at the time, bought my wife with me. Nothing romantic. She was exultant to be in ancient Egypt. She enjoyed the experience. Moses started her religion by leaving the land of pharaohs and pyramids. In that very act of dismissal, Moses found his God, which the Christians shared – and Muslims.
Have you ever thought we share our god-like notion with several religions? Persecuting Jews is tantamount to smearing ourselves. Taunting and teasing the Chosen, we might have more luck in joking with ourselves. All Jews are circumcised, so are Muslims. Mr. Einstein lost his foreskin through religious rites. Nazis exultantly kept the skin that Jews and Muslims lost. He had the most brilliant mind when he was around, the White House confirmed, by inviting him in; Franklin D. Roosevelt held the presidency then.
There were no suspicions that FDR was losing his mind. We went through the Great Depression with him in the Oval Office. Things turned out well, because of World War II – nothing to do with him and his famous grin. Still, there was the Depression that some people called great. I lived through the 1930s – with memories of shoe patches that came from the five-and-dime stores, not from the shoemaker.
This essay came from Marlene Young’s gift to me. The stone sits triumphantly on my desk because of Mrs. Young’s generosity; I will never lose it until the day I die.
Then it will become part of my estate.